


Soy Lat-What Now?

by MistressGalahat



Series: Twelve Days of Stories [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Barista Stiles Stilinski, Customer Derek, M/M, Meet-Cute, Scott is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-06 07:07:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8739523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressGalahat/pseuds/MistressGalahat
Summary: A barista messing up on an order, and a hot customer frowning over a soy latte.It was destined to happen at some point.





	

**Author's Note:**

> On the fourth day of Christmas  
> my true love sent to me:  
> Four Growling Werewolves

“Here you go, sir, one soy latte.” Stiles flicks the drink over the counter without even sparing the customer a glance. He’s been going for thirty six hours without sleep, is pretty sure he looks like shit personified, and his dad has been relentless in his mother henning even from halfway across California.

The only reason he hasn’t collapsed yet is because Scott is shouting from the back room about how he doesn’t want to get shot by the Sheriff when they go back home to visit. For Stiles, it’s strange to simply be away from Beacon Hills. It’s not like he imagined his life turning into an adventure, but he never really counted on leaving either.

But Scott needed a roommate to get through his veterinarian classes, and Stiles wasn’t his best bro for nothing. So, yeah, he tore up his roots, promised to call his dad at least twice a week, brush his teeth and wash his clothes. And help Scott pay for their shared apartment while he figured out what the heck to do with his life.

It doesn’t help Stiles that his thoughts wander again and he misses the customer glaring at his offered drink. It stays dormant on the table like a forgotten and stale milk carton. The guy doesn’t move.

“A soy lat-what now?” Growls the customer, and wow.

Stiles nearly falls over, but in his post-tripping, he takes a moment to appreciate the view. A tight black henley is resting on muscles that don’t just come naturally, and the amount of stubble on his chiseled jaw is just right. Stiles is pretty sure he actually drools unabashedly at the attractive bloke until Scott backhands him from somewhere out of his field of vision. It jolts Stiles back to the present, and he hurriedly grabs a napkin to stop himself from further embarrassment.

He is not quite certain he succeeds with his elegant napkin grab fall, but a guy can hope.

“Uh, sorry, what?” Stiles pats himself on the back, mentally, for not making the words unintelligible and complete gibberish. Scott waves at him from where he has returned to the back room and gives him a thumbs up to follow. Stiles just really hopes the hot costumer guy didn’t see that.

Hot guy frowns and gestures pointedly at the Soy Latte still left steaming on the counter. “I didn’t order that,” he says. “I’m not even sure I want to know what a soy latte is?”

Stiles flails, his brain yelling _abort_! “Well, a soy latte is… Um… You know what, never mind, I’m sorry. What was your original order?” Stiles takes a deep breath, and hopes to whoever sits high and mighty in the sky that his supervisor doesn’t walk in. He’s not technically allowed usage of the heavy machinery in the shop - at least since the incident of the Great Cocoa River.

The guy frowns again, but uncrosses his arms from his chest. Stiles barely manages to see the white corners of a sticky name tag, but the letters are written in a neat and looped stroke of a pen.

Derek. A new university student, no doubt, if the paper tag is anything to go by. Stiles isn’t above saying the name suits him, but at the moment he is content not letting his mouth run off and stamp him as a crazy stalker who knows absolutely everything about everyone.

Derek glares at Stiles’ own name tag and his eyebrows scrunch together in a way that shouldn’t be both attractive and intimidating. “I’d very much like a large hot cocoa with marshmallows, _Stiles_.”

He damn near drops the whole stack of cups when he hears his name, only just about managing to catch every single one of them while looking like a monkey with five hands and no tail. “Coming right up,” he says, cursing his luck when the order is a damn _cocoa_. His nemesis. His mortal enemy.

Scott laughs from out back like the incredibly supportive best friend that he is, and Stiles tries so very hard not to let it bother him. His hands are already shaking from the attention Derek is clearly showering him with, and the fact that the guy is hot doesn’t help him. And then there’s the cocoa. Damn the cocoa.

If Stiles turns around right now and asks for Derek to change his order because he can’t handle the cocoa machine, then he would no doubt see the flaming hot blush that Stiles is sporting. He’ll have to take his chances with the cocoa. And maybe pray that there will be no great flood like the last time he tried his hand at it.

He manages to put the cup under the machine, nice and neat like he remembers it having been done before. Scott has shown him how to work it a million times, but his attention span is short, and Stiles never really managed to give it his all. Malia had done it earlier on her shift, just before Scott and he had gotten in to take over and relieve the two tired teenagers.

Isaac had been especially grumpy, which resulted in an early brawl of croissant throwing until Malia had nearly ripped all of their heads off. Luckily she managed to only throw Isaac’s ass out on the curb, but Stiles wasn’t taking any chances.

Okay, so he had placed the cup properly. Check.

Then Malia did that weird thing with the handle to make it go _whrr_ , like a proper machine usually should. It made it sound like he was fixing up lattes, but somehow the process was always much harder than Stiles recalled.

With only two buttons, none of them labeled, Stiles is aware of his mediocre success rate. It is that silly half full, half empty kind of situation. Although hopefully, pushing the button on the left will not result in a flood of cocoa this time.

While the machine goes _whrr_ and cold sweat is running down Stiles’ back, he whips up a fresh batch of whipped cream. He prepares the cup with more care than he otherwise would have done, but there are no other customers in the shop and he really wants to impress Derek. He would rather not screw up again, and the guy is scowling enough that Stiles can’t gauge if his reaction is annoyance or resting bitch face syndrome.

He is willing to take his chances.

As Stiles finishes off the whipped cream, the cocoa beeps and announces that there has been no flood or reason for divine intervention. Scott shouts out a _whoop_ , and Stiles resists the urge to throw the hot cocoa through the revolving door leading to his best friend in an apron.

Throwing an extra generous amount of marshmallows on top, Stiles puts the cup on the counter with the most flirtatious smile he can muster, while his nerves try to paralyze him from the inside.

“Here you go,” says Stiles, and he hates how much higher his voice comes off on the first word. He sounds like a mouse getting mauled by black bear, but alas, Stiles digresses and concedes to the fact that he will forever be mortified in the presence of the customer that makes his heart throb irrationally.

Derek eyes the new cup with less apprehension than he did the soy latte. Still not a smile, but Stiles will take anything other than yelling for getting the order wrong in the first place. The contents are steaming, giving off a pleasant smell of good memories and even better ones to come.

“Maybe you should have the soy latte. Best not to let it go to waste.” Derek actually smiles instead of frowning, and slides the cup over the few inches of the counter. His eyebrows does a cute little waggle, that Stiles may have to dub the Eyebrow Wink TM, before the man hauls off his hot chocolate and is sauntering away with a wave.

Stiles melts, limbs holding him up as he hugs the counter like an octopus. Scott finally emerges from the back room - the traitor and coward - with a stupid grin too large for his face.

“Thanks for the backup, dork,” snorts Stiles. The want to curl in on himself is great, but the need to punch his friend in the shoulder is much greater. Scott laughs, but it turns into a yelp as Stiles follows through on his thought.

Scott whines, petting his abused shoulder and sniffling like a puppy has just died. “Maybe you should take the soy latte, you know.” He says as a way of placating his obviously agitated and mortified best friend.

It is Stiles’ turn to frown as he glares at Scott. “You do realise I don’t like soy lattes, right?” They have been friends long enough for Scott to know that piece of information, but his friend remains uncharacteristically insistent.

“Yeah, I know, but seriously, Stiles, have a drink.”

Stiles gives him the side eye until Scott concedes defeat and reaches a hand for the styrofoam cup of soy latte. He twists the beverage until Stiles can plainly see the scribbled phone number that had been previously hidden from his view. There is a napkin beside it that Stiles doesn’t notice until Scott slides it straight up in his face.

It has the same neat scrawl as the writing on Derek’s name tag.

 

_Call me when you know what a soy latte is._

__\- Derek_ _

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> As requested by my friend Willow. She wanted fluff and coffee shop, so who am I to deny her that?  
> Also, personal headcanon - Laura's favourite drink is a soy latte, so Derek is just being mean to the cute guy manning the register.


End file.
